


for the ones left behind

by allapologies



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (2014)
Genre: Family Feels, Gen, Star Trek?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 20:54:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2164839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allapologies/pseuds/allapologies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The aliens took him," Gregg Quill says. "They took my grandson."</p>
<p>"Sure they did, gramps," Tony Stark says.</p>
<p>"Peter Jason Quill, they took him in 1988," Gregg says. "Couldn't you talk to your friend? The big blond from space, the one with the hammer, maybe he could ask around for me."</p>
            </blockquote>





	for the ones left behind

**Author's Note:**

> Credit due to Gregg Henry, who plays Grandpa Quill in Guardians of the Galaxy. They never specifically named Grandpa Quill, so I kinda stole his first name.
> 
> If you wanna chat or make friends or whatever, hit up my ask box at starwarring.tumblr.com.

“The aliens took my grandson,” Gregg Quill says.

They stare at him, all of them, the nurses and the doctors and his friends and his sister.

“Gregg,” his sister begins. “Gregg, I know this hasn’t been a good day for anyone,” and her eyes are watery and red-rimmed.

“I saw it myself,” Gregg says, and he did. He saw Peter Quill suspended in a beam of pure light. He tried to run faster than his creaky old knees could take him, but he was too slow. When he got there, there was only the footprints in the mud and the distant twinkle of a ship on the horizon.

“Gregg,” his sister repeats, and he can see the crease forming between her eyes.

He sinks into one of the hospital waiting room chairs and shuts his eyes. Gregg Quill is a stubborn man, but he isn’t stupid. He lets it go.

Later, they file a missing persons report with the police.  _Aliens_ , Gregg thinks, and he knows his sister is watching him out of the corner of her eye, but he says nothing.

If he keeps talking about aliens, they’ll toss him in the loony bin. As far as Gregg knows, they don’t have newspapers or corn whiskey or Marvin Gaye records in the loony bin, and he’ll want all of those things while he waits for his grandson.

* * *

  _Don’t be lonely when I’m gone, pa_ , his daughter had said, before she died.  _You hear_? And she’d grabbed his wrists with paper-dry fingers.

So Gregg does his best. He owns an auto repair business. He runs a good, clean shop, and the kids who work for him like him, too. He lets them play music tapes while they work, and there’s a potluck party at his house every Christmas.

His sister visits him often, and she brings along her daughter, too. Gregg is very fond of his niece. She listens to pop records with Gregg and borrows all of his books and she never mentions it to her mother, if once in a while a newspaper clipping about aliens falls out from between the pages. Sometimes she’ll sit cross-legged by the window and point to the stars that Peter might have visited.

Later, a baby grand-nephew comes along. Tiberius Kirk leaves sticky fingerprints in picture books about spaceships. Gregg loves him dearly.

Life goes on.

* * *

It’s a dry hot spring. Gregg’s sister sits beside on the couch, knitting a tea cozy, when he turns on the television to see aliens attacking New York.

She drops her needles.

_I told you so_ , he thinks but he doesn’t say, because people are dying, and that would be cruel. He can feel her looking at him again, though, and this time it’s different.

* * *

Tony Stark is signing photographs in Kansas City, at some kind of benefit for families of wounded veterans. Gregg Quill fires up his ancient beast of a pickup truck and drives down to Kansas City.

It’s a very fancy hotel venue, and there’s a very long line to get to Tony Stark, but Gregg can be patient. He’s waited twenty-six years. Gregg chats a bit with the woman and the young boy behind him in line. “I’m going to be an engineer,” the boy says, and his mother looks down at him with bright eyes. Gregg smiles at that. When he was twelve, he still wanted to be professional baseball player.

When he gets to the front of the line, Tony Stark’s fingers automatically twitch for his pen. Then he realizes that Gregg holds out nothing for him to sign.

“The aliens took him,” Gregg Quill says instead. “They took my grandson.”

“Sure they did, gramps,” Tony Stark says.

“Peter Jason Quill, they took him in 1988,” Gregg says. “Couldn’t you talk to your friend? The big blond with the hammer, the one from space, maybe he could ask around for me.”

“Sir,” the bodyguard says. He’s spray-tan orange and plush around the middle, but his fingers grip Gregg’s elbow with surprising strength. “Sir, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Gregg lets the bodyguard guide him away. He chances a look back at Stark, though. Stark wears mirrored lenses. They cover half his face like oversized glossy bug eyes. He might be dozing off behind them, for all the rest of the world could tell. But Gregg swears that Stark’s head turns just ever so slightly his direction, as the guard walks him out the door.

* * *

 Gregg Quill sits on the porch with a glass of iced tea balanced on his palm and a book on his lap. Evenings are wonderfully mellow out in the country. It’s a surprise to him, then, when the great silver jet touches down on the field in front of his home. The grass ripples and parts like a sea under the deadly quiet turbines.

The glass slides from his palm and shatters on the wood planks when Tony Stark steps out of the jet and onto his porch.

Stark crosses his arms. “Well. Are you just going to sit there and look at me? Come on. We’re on the clock, Pa Kent.”

“What?”

“I just want you to know that I didn't do this because of you,” Stark says. “Not specifically, anyway, so don’t go getting any ideas, this was all completely incidental.” He takes off his sunglasses and tucks them into his suit pocket. “It was the tree’s fault, actually.”

“I’m sorry?” Gregg says, because his mama raised him to be polite.

“The tree,” Stark continues. “The fucking tree. There’s a verbally challenged Ent in my tower, and a green woman with one too many knives, and the Idiot with the Dragon Tattoo who charged sixteen thousand dollars to my card and now I've got an entire fucking room stacked to the ceiling with pineapple pizza. And the raccoon, did I mention the raccoon?”

“No, you didn't,” Gregg says politely.

“Well, there’s a raccoon with delusions of grandeur, thinks he knows repulsor technology better than me,” and he snorts. “And there’s a man waiting in my tower,” Stark says. “Still carries around a Walkman and thinks the damn Pina Colada song is the pinnacle of musical achievement.” He looks away from Gregg. “He says his name is Quill. Peter Quill.”

If Gregg cries a bit as he steps onto the Quinjet, Tony Stark pretends not to notice it.


End file.
